PREVIEW

... not feel tired at all. It was fairly easy for him to carry those goods.


Soon, the whole MCV had been filled up. Seeing there was no place to put, Jiang Liushi simply put the rest of the sacks on the roof. In that way, his MCV looked even more dilapidated with a roof filled with sacks. It was like migrant workers driving into the city.


Finally, all the appropriate places had been used to store the food. However, there were still some goods. Jiang Liushi could only select ...

YOU MAY ALSO LIKE
Rebirth of the Wolfish Silkpants BottomChapter 153 (END) - Extra 2
 10.2k
4.6/5(votes)
YaoiRomanceMatureDrama

MTL - End of the Magic EraChapter 1469
 930.8k
3.5/5(votes)
ActionAdventureDramaFantasy

The world that nurtured the civilization which reached the pinnacle of magic was on the verge of destruction.
The last survivor transmigrated to the past, when the magic civilization started growing, as countless mages were still fumbling their ways through the thorny paths of magic knowledge.
He, who came from the end of the magic era, aim to reach the pinnacle of magic.

- Description from Novelupdates

Under the Oak TreeChapter 128C367
 21M
4.9/5(votes)
RomanceFantasyAdultPsychological

The daughter of a duke, the stuttering Maximilian, married a knight of lowly status at her father’s coercion.

THE DEATH KNELLChapter 67: War of God’s and Shadows
 23
4.5/5(votes)
FantasyActionAdventureHarem

war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”